


Ghost of Christmas Cement

by IncurablePeppermint



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Regret, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 02:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncurablePeppermint/pseuds/IncurablePeppermint
Summary: Bojack is due for a ghostly Christmas intervention, but his Marley takes a wrong turn and can't be bothered to hunt him down. Instead, she takes this opportunity to hang out with someone else.





	Ghost of Christmas Cement

“I'm, like, the ghost of Christmas past or some shit. You done fucked up your holiday spirit and ate a bad piece of meat.”

“No, no. I get that and I'll believe you for the sake of... Whatever is left of my sanity. But I don't understand why _you_ are my ghost. I barely ever even talked to you.”

“Aw, what? I take a wrong turn again?” The spectral Sarah Lynn plops her ass down on Diane's pull out bed and leans back on her elbows, relaxing. “Well, fuck a cunt. I'm not hunting around anymore. I'm _your_ ghost now. Boo, bitch.”

“You've gotta be Bojack's ghost, yeah? I can just drive you over. Can you ride in a car?”

“No. And honestly? It’s real rude of you to remind me of my ghostly limitations.”

“Sorry?”

“You should be! And maybe I'm not Bojack's ghost. Maybe I _am_ your ghost!”

“Sarah Lynn. I literally barely knew you.”

“Yeah, but you still think about me a lot, right?”

“No. Maybe. Okay, a little. Prickly Muffin was really, _really_ catchy but I can't say I appreciated the sexualization of a childish nickname.”

“No you dumb shit, you think about how I, like, croaked.”

Diana opens her mouth to talk, but hesitates. She doesn't have a particularly good response to that. After taking a seat next to Sarah Lynn she sighs deeply. “It's hard not to. Between your age and your proximity and... It's just rough.” Sarah Lynn makes a face that is somewhere between laughing and smelling something foul.

“It wasn't a great day for yours truly either.”

“One would assume.”

“Well _one_ should try to be a little more sensitive then, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just a little hard coming to terms with talking to a ghost.”

“Uh huh. And it’s hard being a ghost.”

“Right. So you’re the ghost of Christmas past? If you were anything I thought you’d be Marley.”

“What?”

“You know, Marley? The old business partner of Scrooge who died doing the same things he did. Warns him about the other ghosts.”

“Oh, yeah. I _was_ supposed to do that.” She burps and then flops down onto her back. The bed seems undisturbed. “Too bad for him, I guess. He’s just gonna go straight into the ghosts of Christmas bullshit telling him he fucked up.”

“Well, your job was also to tell him he fucked up, so I guess it doesn’t matter that much.”

“You’ll just tell him once he’s out of rehab, yeah?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Diane. I know you’re a big fucking smarty-pants. I see things up there in the glowing light of the afterlife. I _also_ know you wait ‘till you’re mad to bring things up in shouting matches. Rawr.”

“Well, I...”

“It’s not a good look. I mean. Obviously your complaints have merit, I fucking _died_ . I just think we both know that waiting until tensions are high isn’t gonna do fucking _dick-shit_ to work those problems out.”

“Yeah we... You’re really smart, Sarah Lynn.”

“Ugh, shut up. I know. Did Bojack never tell you I wanted to be an architect? I got the history of window styles and the know-how to place a support beam all up in here,” she highlights those last few words by rolling her eyes up and moving one hand in a swirl over her head. “You thought I was just, like, a vapid singer that has her songs composed for her and only knows how to gyrate her hips and snort a line?”

“A little. Sorry.”

“Naw, it’s fine. That’s what I wanted people to think. Then you don’t get asked big questions. What do you think of the election, Sarah Lynn? How do you feel about cloning, Sarah Lynn? You want to know what I think? I think you should be asking the goddamn experts you absolute fuck nut.”

They both laugh at this. “Yeah, it’s as if those beauty pageant questions have seeped into the real world and now everyone feels like they can ask any pretty girl they find how to end a war and they’ll get a good answer in less than twenty seconds. It’s ridiculous.”

“Totally. Fuck that noise.”

“And then after that line of questioning they’ll move on to if you shave your pubes or not and who designed your top.”

“God. I always just flashed my puss at them when they asked that dumb shit. Like, why do you fucking care? Muffin out, bitch!”

“Yeah I uh... Definitely heard about you doing that.”

“Then they mosaic it in different colors so they can say I do one thing or another, or start a debate about whether I do or don’t. It’s pubes! Get off my dick!”

“Yeah. It would’ve been nice to talk to you when you were still...”

“Alive? Yeah. You probably would’ve like... Told me to take my fortune and go to college and follow my dream or some cheesy shit.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“And in a high and mighty way. Like you know better because you’re doing what you love when you’re really writing clickbait fluff for a shit website that makes you _earn_ your real journalism.”

“Okay, _ouch_. But yeah, I guess you’re not wrong.”

“Yeah. But I had the money to _actually_ do architecture. Like... I wouldn’t have to give a shit about some overhead dude, because I would’ve been the big man. I could’ve been the big man. I was _sober_.”

“Sarah Lynn?”

“I dunno. I just... I had a lot going for me once I got out on my own. Away from my shit ass mom and all the other people trying to cling to my childhood fame. Like my head is fucked up, but I had money, right? I coulda bought a therapist instead of drugs.”

“I mean, hired a therapist, but yes.”

“No I had enough money to buy one outright.”

“Fair. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

“No! Don’t pity me. Just like. Look for other young stars and give them your dumb Diane spiel about how they’d be so much happier if they took their fortune and _ran_.”

“I could try that.”

“Like Sextina? She’s raising her baby and she loves it.”

“I... Guess she is, yeah.”

“You can’t be a fucking wonderkid your whole life. You at least need a break with stardom to grow the fuck up. She gets to grow up! You helped with that and you can help other people!”

“Yeah! I can!”

“So do it you big cunt! Write some clickbait about why you should take a four year break from your Hollywoo career to study Marine Biology!”

“Yeah!”

“Good. I don’t want to see any other Sarah Lynns up there in the sexless wasteland.”

“It’s sexless?”

“Ugh, yeah. Now let me see your tits, I haven’t gotten a good scope on any in like... Years.”


End file.
